


rainbow fish come in pairs

by saugaboi



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Sibling Incest, the stromes are mentioned a lot but they never really show up so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saugaboi/pseuds/saugaboi
Summary: It looks like scales, he thinks. There are worse things, in the end, but it's still a little disappointing that he didn't get something cooler. Or, like an actual picture, like pretty much everyone else he knows. But he just has this... pattern.





	rainbow fish come in pairs

**Author's Note:**

> wish I could explain myself but uh.

_ Two. _ __   
  
His first memory is a little fuzzy, and he isn't sure whether he was actually two, maybe he was three. It isn't like toddlers have any proper concept of time. That, and isn't easy to tell when all he remembers is Ryan throwing a big bouncy ball at him with his newfound motor skills, and the dull pain when it hit him in the side of the head and he cried.   
  
Not really the best of memories, but it's what he got. Apparently it was the first time Ry was able to actually throw something, too, so it was a milestone for both of them. One that was a lot less fun for Mikey.   
  
_ Four. _   
  
Skating is hard, and weird, and really cold. Mostly cold. He gets the hang of it, though, and it's fun and it's how they end up becoming closer with the Stromes, so it's good. It's good, and he loves it a lot, and he drags a laughing Ryan around the ice as best as he can.   
  
He doesn't even cry when he falls over anymore.   
  
_ Eight. _   
  
He's had, like, a general idea of what soulmates are, but it isn't like he's experienced anyone getting their mark. It's always felt like a bedtime story, something completely intangible, considering it seems like he'd never met someone that's only half a pair.   
  
It's real, suddenly, when Dylan's brother gets his, and the five younger members of their weird little extended family all stare at it as though if they blink it'll be gone.   
  
_ Eleven. _ __   
__   
It's a big deal, Matt's thirteenth. First of the family to get his mark and all that. It's half a cat - pretty cute, really. Fitting. He tells the Stromes that this obviously means cats are better than dogs, and Ryan Strome rolls his eyes and says something about how his snowflake doesn't make sunshine any worse.   
  
Mikey still thinks dogs and cats are on equal ground, anyway.   
  
__ Twelve.   
  
Dylan gets his mark, and it's a rose, the flower beside it cut off at its petals. A daisy, maybe. Hard to tell. Either way, they all agree that no matter what it is, those are the flowers that they have at their wedding. It's the right thing to do -yes, Dylan, even if you're allergic.

He didn't deserve something as romantic as a rose, probably. Then again, what thirteen year old would?   
  
_ Thirteen. _   
  
It looks like scales, he thinks. There are worse things, in the end, but it's still a little disappointing that he didn't get something cooler. Or, like an actual picture, like pretty much everyone else he knows. But he just has this... pattern. It looks like one of the scales that's split where his wrist ends is filled in, and it reminds him a little bit of the book Matt would read to him and Ryan when they were younger - he really only did it to practice reading in general - The Rainbow Fish.   
  
He hated that book. Heard it too many times.   
  
Regardless, it's what he's left with, and at least there's probably not much of a chance he meets someone with a mark that  _ could _ match his, but ends up not being right.   
  
The half of a filled in scale should be indicative enough.   
  
Matty gets his, and it's clearly part of a cloud, and none of them say what they're thinking.   
  
They'll have their answer in a few short months, anyway.   
  
_ Fourteen.  _   
  
Ryan isn't home when Mikey wakes up. In fact, he apparently wasn't home when any of them woke up, and they're all a little worried, because this is a pretty fucking important day.   
  
He walks in not too long after Mikey had gotten up, and he feels relief flood his whole body in a way he'd not really experienced before. He hadn't  _ really _ been concerned enough to warrant that, he thinks to himself, but he squeezes his little brother in a tight hug before the front door even fully shuts behind him.

Ryan doesn't move, and the relief dies, draining out of his body all at once like a plug had been pulled.

He holds out his wrists, and.

There's nothing there. He doesn't have a mark. He doesn't-

“That's not fair,” Mikey says, immediately lightly taking his hands in his so he can look at them, like if he stares hard enough something will appear. “That's not fair.”

Ryan doesn't say anything, just shrugs and walks off.

He doesn't look at Mikey once all day.

He doesn't look at Mikey for nearly a week, and it's. It hurts a lot. He just wants to help,  _ fuck,  _ he wants nothing more than to try to make this a little easier on him. It isn't fair, and he has to pretend he doesn't hear Ryan crying one room over.

Of the two of them, Mikey wishes he was the one with no soulmate. He's fine with his friends, and he'd get over it eventually, but Ryan… God, he just doesn't deserve this.

He doesn't deserve this, and September is over and he still hasn't fucking spoken to his best goddamn friend in the world - sorry Dyls - since his birthday, and he doesn't know why. It seems like it's business as usual with everyone else and it sucks. It really fucking sucks and he knows Ryan isn't okay and he just wants to know why.

It happens like this.

He knocks.

No response.

He knocks.

No response.

And this is important, so he doesn't knock a third time, just enters, and-

Ryan is sitting on the floor, curled up and leaning back against his mattress, staring at his wrists. It makes his heart ache.

“Ry-”

His head snaps up, frantic. “Go away.”

“Ryan-”

“Mikey. Leave.”

He wants to cry. Holy shit, he wants to cry so badly.

“I can't,” he doesn't mean to say, and it feels like it comes from somewhere beyond him. Like he really, truly  _ can't. _ “Please, I miss you.”

_ “Go,”  _ he doesn't shout, but it's a near thing, and he points to the door, but there's.

There's something on his wrist.

“Holy shit, Ry,” Mikey says too fast, his words stumbling out of him while it feels like he's set on fire with excitement. “You've got-”

Ryan looks at his outstretched arm and pulls it in to his chest, holding his hand tightly there. “No I don't.”

“Yeah you do-”

“No I don't,” his voice is wavering, now, and he's starting to cry, and Mikey has no fucking clue what's going on.

Quietly shutting the door behind him, he walks over to him slowly, the way you'd approach a scared animal. Ryan looks the part, right at that moment. He sits down in front of him and gently reaches out to take his hand. 

“It's okay.”

“No it isn't-” he shakes his head too quickly, and the tears are spilling down his face “-it isn't.”

“C’mon, Ry,” he says softly and gently pulls on his hand, “you can trust me.”

“I know.”

“Then let me see.”

Ryan stares at him for a moment, but he doesn't surrender his hand until he's looking in the complete opposite direction.

It's.

It's scales. With one of the halved ones filled in.

“Oh.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

The apologies tumble out of him sloppily, and they blur together in a babbled mess, and Mikey doesn't know what to do other than pull him in for a hug that's not exactly comfortable given the way they're sitting, but that doesn't matter.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks into his shoulder.

“You don't- I'm- it's  _ yours-” _

“I know. I know.”

There isn't much to say beyond that, is there?

So Ryan keeps buying patches, and they don't tell anyone, and Mikey tries to avoid thinking about how much it makes sense. About how he'd been having these weird feelings blossoming in his chest any time he looked at his brother, ones he couldn't properly place. Ones he isn't sure he should, now.

He really,  _ really _ hates The Rainbow Fish.

_ Fifteen. _

It's only been a few months now, and he hates it, hates all of this. Not that they're soulmates specifically, but the way they're handling it. Not even that, because things feel normal for the most part, but-

Actually it's that exactly. It's that things went back to normal.

Things went back to normal and he spends way too much time thinking about how badly he wants to kiss Ryan. How badly he wants to hold his hand and tell him he loves him all the time and-

Yeah, it's probably just because part of his brain feels like that's how he's supposed to act because of the marks, like if it were anyone else that's how they'd be. Except, he knows that isn't the case. Not when he'd felt the seeds of that sprouting before he even had a word for it.

He hates that he wants all of these things, and things are back to normal, and he wants more, and he can't even  _ say _ Ryan doesn't want it too, because they never talked about it.

“The universe doesn't make mistakes,” he says when the pair are sitting in silence in the basement, the rest of the family out at the store. “It just doesn't.”

“Mikey-”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, but-”

“Ryan. Is it- I need you to be honest.” Mikey gets up off of the couch and sits next to his brother on the chair. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly.

“Is it so bad? That this happened?”

“It's not supposed to.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Ryan just stares down at his hands, and Mikey figures he might as well bite the fucking bullet here.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Can I?”

“I- yeah.”

There's a reason that soulmates are marked the way they are - pieces of a puzzle, two parts of a whole picture. When you find the match, there's this sense of… being complete. Like you can physically feel the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Ryan's lips against his fit right, and it's like he breathes for the first time when they pull apart.

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ he barely breathes out.

“Yeah, I'm- can we- I wanna-”

Mikey laughs and closes the gap again, pulling Ryan into his lap so the angle is better, and they just share sloppy kisses until they hear a car door outside and the neighbours’ dog bark.

_ Seventeen. _

And the Flint Firebirds select, third overall-

Mikey feels a wave of nausea that he can't shake, and the moment he can, he holds on to Ryan and tells him it'll all be okay. It'll be fine, they'll handle it, he's not getting away that easily. They're in this together.

It isn't easy, not really, but it also wasn't as hard as he'd expected it'd be, and he takes a picture while his best friend and his brother pose -

_ Favourite mcleod now a trout _

They're approaching Ryan's sixteenth, and it's… kind of a problem. See, the thing is, Ry can't wear patches for the rest of their lives and he obviously can't just have his actual mark just out there, and sixteen is the last ditch hope for those that didn't get their marks at thirteen.

It takes a lot of discussion, but they make a decision in late August.

Finding a sketchy enough tattoo artist that'll give a fifteen year old a tattoo without permission is tricky, but they manage - apparently altering soulmarks is what the guy does for the most part anyway. It's some back alley shit but it'll get the job done and that's what matters.

Part of them hurt at the idea that their pictures won't match anymore, that they won't be able to just lay together and put their wrists together and look at it and feel  _ whole.  _ So they do just that and take a picture of it - they'll always have that, at least. And Mikey puts his phone down and he kisses Ryan slowly, and he isn't even sure whose tears are dripping onto the sheets below them.

It isn't the most ideal picture for altering, they know this, but the guy shrugs it off, just extending Ryan's lines just enough that they don't match anymore, filling in a bunch of the scales at random - especially on the edge. By the time it's said and done, it's believably different, and Mikey's heart aches looking at it, but it's for the best.

It's perfectly healed by the time his birthday rolls around, so when he puts on the act that it just appeared, it looks real, and no one questions it at all.

They joke at the similarity in the pictures, “can't let me just have this one thing, huh, Ry?”

“You're just mad that I have a cooler scale pattern.”

“Yeah, sure. Always gotta one up me.”

“Of course.”

And if they cry again that night while they hold onto each other, then that's their business.

_ Eighteen. _

He's drafted to the Devils, 12th overall, and he's only felt happier than this once in his life - he's fairly certain that not even winning the Stanley Cup would top overdue messy kisses on the chair in their basement - and he lets Ryan gush about it when they get home after all the draft stuff. Mikey laughs as he presses kisses all over his face between affectionate whispers about how  _ proud  _ he is.

He's sent back to Missy after camp that summer, and it sucks, it really sucks, but at the same time, he gets another year with Ryan so… it's not all bad.

It's not all bad at all, and he makes the World Juniors roster, and he doesn't play very much, but he's  _ there,  _ and-

And Ryan holds him while he cries, a silver medal tossed somewhere on the floor of his closet.

_ Nineteen. _

It gets better, because they make the playoffs, and they win, and they keep winning, and they win the East and it takes every fibre of his being to not kiss Ryan on the ice. He makes up for it later, anyway.

It gets worse, because they lose in the championships, and he has to hold his head high as he shakes Dylan's hand.

He's never been more thankful for the comfort of his brother- his best friend, his  _ soulmate  _ \- than he is that night. They're both hurting, and it sucks, but they have each other, and that's the most important thing there is. They have each other, and they always will.

He's told Ryan he loves him more times than he would ever even try to count, because he does, and none of them feel right in that moment, like they're not enough.

They sit in a hotel in Erie, and Mikey pushes Ryan's hair out of his face, and their cheeks are both tear stained, and everything hurts, but.

“I'm so in love with you.”

Ryan nods, his smile watery, “yeah. I'm in love with you too, Mikey.”

“That's a relief,” he laughs lightly, tapping on the other's wrist, “‘cause you're kinda stuck with me.”

He feels a lot lighter when they kiss, then.

_ Twenty. _

It's been a rough year, to say the least. It felt like nothing was going according to plan, not in any way, and then he won gold at World Juniors and the Steelheads scraped into the playoffs and it felt like maybe the year was salvageable in spite of the injury, and then.

Fucking Barrie.

It's okay, because he goes up to Bing for the last handful of games of the season.

He's, for the most part, able to forget that it means he's done playing with Ryan. While he's there at least.

It's weird. For all the new chapters they've started and old ones they've ended, this one hurts the most. He's moving forward with his career, taking one step closer to the NHL dream, and yet. He's leaving everything behind.

Not that he's going to forget about Ryan or that they won't manage through this, but the facts here are as such:

Ryan is his everything. And he's staying in Missy. Or going off to wherever he's drafted.

So yeah, he's leaving everything behind. It sucks, but they'll figure it out. They've faced tougher in the past, and they'll always have each other, so it'll be okay.

They sit in a row in Dallas, and Mikey wants nothing more than to hold his hand, but he can't, so they sit with their elbows pressed together and it means the same thing. It doesn't matter where he goes - draft position or team - because they've got this. They've got this, and Mikey is so unbelievably  _ proud.  _

He has to bite down on his lip so hard it bleeds just to stop himself from crying as he watches Ryan pull on a jersey and hat at centre stage.

New chapters are sometimes okay, it turns out, and Mikey gets to return the favour two years after he'd gotten it - pressing gentle kisses all over Ryan’s face the moment he can, pairing each one with  _ I'm so proud of you _ and  _ I love you so fucking much.  _

The Rainbow Fish isn't so bad, he decides, pressing his lips lightly to Ryan's wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> me @ myself: never write soulmate aus for these two  
> me: fucking does it anyway
> 
> so. there we have it I guess. sorry


End file.
